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adorning,

       As earthly joys the charm of a first delight,

       And some are fallen from awe to neglect and scorning;

       Until—

       O tarry not long, dear needed sprite!{28}

       Till thou, though uninvited, with fancy returnest

       To hallow beauty and make the dull heart bright:

       To inhabit again thy gladdened kingdom in earnest;

       Wherein—

       from the smile of beauty afar forecasting

       The pleasure of god, thou livest at peace and yearnest

       With wonder everlasting. 840

      SECOND PART

      Re-enter from the palace Inachus, with Argeia and Io.

      INACHUS.

      That but a small and easy thing now seems,

       Which from my house when I came forth at noon

       A dream was and beyond the reach of man.

       'Tis now a fancy of the will, a word,

       Liberty's lightest prize. Yet still as one

       Who loiters on the threshold of delight,

       Delaying pleasure for the love of pleasure,

       I dally—Come, Argeia, and share my triumph!

       And set our daughter by thee; though her eyes

       Are young, there are no eyes this day so young 850

       As shall forget this day—while one thing more

       I ask of thee; this evil, will it light

       On me or on my house or on mankind?

       Pr. Scarce on mankind, O Inachus, for Zeus

       A second time failing will not again

       Measure his spite against their better fate.

       And now the terror, which awhile o'er Earth

       Its black wings spread, shall up to Heaven ascend

       And gnaw the tyrant's heart: for there is whispered

       A word gone forth to scare the mighty gods; 860

       How one must soon be born, and born of men,{29}

       Who shall drive out their impious host from heaven,

       And from their skyey dwellings rule mankind

       In truth and love. So scarce on man will fall

       This evil, nay, nor on thyself, O king;

       Thy name shall live an honoured name in Greece.

       In. Then on my house 'twill be. Know'st thou no more?

       Pr. Know I no more? Ay, if my purpose fail

       'Tis not for lack of knowing: if I suffer,

       'Tis not that poisonous fear hath slurred her task, 870

       Or let brave resolution walk unarmed.

       My ears are callous to the threats of Zeus,

       The direful penalties his oath hath laid

       On every good that I in heart and hand

       Am sworn to accomplish, and for all his threats,

       Lest their accomplishment should outrun mine,

       Am bound the more. Nay, nor his evil minions,

       Nor force, nor strength, shall bend me to his will.

      ARGEIA.

      Alas, alas, what heavy words are these,

       That in the place of joy forbid your tongue, 880

       That cloud and change his face, while desperate sorrow

       Sighs in his heart? I came to share a triumph:

       All is dismay and terror. What is this?

       In. True, wife, I spake of triumph, and I told thee

       The winter-withering hope of my whole life

       Has flower'd to-day in amaranth: what the hope

       Thou knowest, who hast shared; but the condition

       I told thee not and thou hast heard: this prophet,

       Who comes to bring us fire, hath said that Zeus

       Wills not the gift he brings, and will be wroth 890

       With us that take it.

       Ar. O doleful change, I came

       In pious purpose, nay, I heard within

       The hymn to glorious Zeus: I rose and said,

       The mighty god now bends, he thrusts aside{30}

       His heavenly supplicants to hear the prayer

       Of Inachus his servant; let him hear.

       O let him turn away now lest he hear.

       Nay, frown not on me; though a woman's voice

       That counsels is but heard impatiently,

       Yet by thy love, and by the sons I bare thee, 900

       By this our daughter, our last ripening fruit,

       By our long happiness and hope of more,

       Hear me and let me speak.

       In. Well, wife, speak on.

       Ar. Thy voice forbids more than thy words invite:

       Yet say whence comes this stranger. Know'st thou not?

       Yet whencesoe'er, if he but wish us well,

       He will not bound his kindness in a day.

       Do nought in haste. Send now to Sicyon

       And fetch thy son Phorôneus, for his stake

       In this is more than thine, and he is wise. 910

       'Twere well Phorôneus and Ægialeus

       Were both here: maybe they would both refuse

       The strange conditions which this stranger brings.

       Were we not happy too before he came?

       Doth he not offer us unhappiness?

       Bid him depart, and at some other time,

       When you have well considered, then return.

       In. 'Tis his conditions that we now shall hear.

       Ar. O hide them yet! Are there not tales enough

       Of what the wrathful gods have wrought on men? 920

       Nay, 'twas this very fire thou now wouldst take,

       Which vain Salmoneus, son of Æolus,

       Made boast to have, and from his rattling car

       Threw up at heaven to mock the lightning. Him

       The thunderer stayed not to deride, but sent

       One blinding fork, that in the vacant sky

       Shook like a serpent's tongue, which is but seen

       In memory, and he was not, or for burial

       Rode with the ashes of his royal city{31}

       Upon the whirlwind of the riven air. 930

       And after him his brother Athamas,

       King of Orchomenos, in frenzy fell

       For Hera's wrath, and raving killed his son;

       And would have killed fair Ino, but that she fled

       Into the sea, preferring there to woo

       The choking waters, rather than that the arm

       Which had so oft embraced should do her wrong.

      

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